


A Series of Masks

by DuendeJunior



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Thieves, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Eventual Fluff, M/M, Pining Victor Nikiforov, Secret Identity, Thief Katsuki Yuuri, Thief Victor Nikiforov, Vaguely Inspired By Lupin III, Viktuuri Fluff Bang 2019
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-18 04:06:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18112943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuendeJunior/pseuds/DuendeJunior
Summary: Victor Nikiforov is an accomplished thief. He has mingled with the wealthy and made off with their riches more times than he can count.But one night, at the Crispino's masquerade ball, he meets a man that might change his life. And perhaps be a thorn on his side.(for Viktuuri Fluff Bang 2019)





	1. Capri, Italy

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY  
> this fic took more of me than I expected lmao  
> many thanks to [Twiglightdragon](https://twiglightdragonsartblog.tumblr.com/), whose beautiful art is a good chunk of the reason I've strived to finish this work;  
> [anne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paint_with_words/pseuds/PaintingWithWords), for reading my drafts and helping me soundboard;  
> [basia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedstill/pseuds/belovedyuuri), [nora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agasthiya), mary and isa, for listening to me;  
> to everyone at the fluffbang server and the wwv server, for being awesome (especially the mods!!!!!)
> 
> updates shall come once a week

The Crispino townhouse in Capri is considered one of the jewels of the island. Its construction dates from the 1600s, a gift from the merchant Alessandro Crispino to his young wife, Giuliana, and since then it has seen many gatherings of all kinds.

Of all the places Victor has stolen something from, the townhouse might be his favorite. Hiding the loot in such a small island is always a challenge, even if he counts with Georgi’s expertise to help him, but it’s the kind of trifle Victor can forgive for a view of the Adriatic Sea.

Tonight, the Crispinos have opened their lush private garden for a masquerade. Elaborate gowns, smart tuxedos and majestic mixes of the two can be seen everywhere, along with extravagant masks in all shapes and colors. Victor had had half a mind to go as the Phantom of the Opera, but Chris had mocked the idea as “too obvious”, so he ended up choosing a mask in midnight blue, adorned with feathers.

“You’re looking good tonight,” had said Sara, the Crispino twin Victor actually likes, when he got to the party.

“And you look stunning, my dear friend,” he’d said, accepting the glass of champagne she was handing to him. Her answer had been a confident smile and and a call for a toast.

Less than a minute later, she’d been called by her brother, the ever surly Michele, and now Victor flits from one place to another, admiring the intricate arrangement of fairy lights strewn along the trees and reviewing all the steps of tonight’s plan.

Sara’s enthusiasm and passion for life are such that make Victor a little sad about the fact she’ll only ever know him as air-headed socialite Vasily Mikhailovich. In another life, they could be good friends. He’s also sorry in advance for depriving her of her lovely sapphire necklace, but not doing so would mean putting the life of dozens of kids on the line, and Victor has chosen where his priorities lay a long time ago.

If he’s right, he can get to her bedroom with ease, later. The guests will slowly move from the garden to the house, everyone filled with good cheer and even better alcohol, and Victor will be one person among many others, wandering from room to room. But there’s also Michele to take into consideration…

Lost in thought, Victor only notices the waiter standing behind him when the man clears his throat.

“Champagne, sir?” The waiter asks. He sounds apologetic.

Victor turns around, doing his best to disguise his nerves on edge. It’s not becoming for a thief like him to be caught unaware.

“Yes, thank you,” he says, hand gliding towards the last flute on the tray.

Then, he meets the waiter’s eyes.

And the world stops.

Sara had mentioned to him a few weeks earlier she had already chosen the masks for the staff; white ones with small rhinestones around the eyes, a simple and dashing design.

This man, however, with eyes like dark chocolate and slicked back hair, looks _devastating_.

He seems to blink up at Victor in slow motion, long lashes coming to rest right above the cutout on the mask and hiding those beautiful eyes from view. Victor itches to reach out and touch his face.

Loud laughter coming from the bushes shatters the moment, and before Victor can say anything the waiter excuses himself with a bow and walks away with brisk steps towards the dancefloor.

Victor follows him with his eyes, a strange sort of helplessness blooming in his chest, until he’s lost in the crowd.

Oh, _fuck_.

****

**-**

Half an hour later, he stumbles into Sara near a different bush. Her strapless dress looks a bit crooked, and her mask is missing a few feathers.

_Mila must be here_ , Victor thinks, smiling at her.

“Wonderful party, as always,” he says, grasping her hands. “I see you’re having a lot of fun.”

She gives him a tiny, secret smile, and he shields her from prying eyes as she adjusts her dress.

“Let’s take a walk,” she says. “I want to see if everyone else is having a good time as well.”

Victor offers her his arm and they begin a path downwards, to where the dancefloor sprawls in the half-light. To where the world’s most beautiful man disappeared earlier.

Oh.

Maybe…

“Sara?” Victor says, with a nonchalance he doesn’t quite feel, as they reach the edges of the dancefloor, where couples sway dreamily to the sounds of the band.

She looks up at him.

“I have a confession to make.”

“Oh?” She gasps. “Please, tell me now.”

“You see, I’m not having as much fun as I’m sure you’d like me to.”

She covers the tiny “o” of her mouth. “I am appalled, Vasily! Why didn’t you say so before?”

He gives her a rueful smile. “I’m sorry, my friend. But I think this could be rectified with your help.”

“Just tell me how.”

Victor’s smile turns a tad more genuine. “Thank you.” He squeezes her hand. “You see, I might have found a prince.”

“ _Oooooooh!_ ” Sara’s eyes twinkle. “A prince!”

Victor nods. “But it seems he’s here as one of the waiters you hired.” He lets out a small sigh. “I know I shouldn’t make any unreasonable demands of him while he’s working, but maybe if you could give him a few minutes of rest…”

Sara purses her lips and makes a thoughtful sound.

“He might say _no_ , you know.”

Victor shrugs. “Then _no_ it is.”

Sara nods at him and looks ahead, determination settling in her features.

“Alright, how does he look like?”

“Let’s see.” Victor bites his lower lip. “Black hair slicked back. Beautiful eyes. Taller than you, but a bit smaller than me. And wearing one of the masks you gave to the staff.”

“... That’s not much to go on, Vasily. There’s a lot of black-haired people here tonight.”

Victor deflates. “I know…”

Sara pats his arm. “You love a challenge, don’t you. But don’t worry, we have all night to find him.”

Victor hopes it doesn’t come to that. He has more pressing matters to attend.

(Although they seem less interesting now.)

 

**-**  

The garden is monstrously huge, and Victor despairs of having to cover it all by foot, since he can’t let Sara know he knows about the faster routes, but by some miracle they spot the man when they come near the house. He’s serving a gaggle of loud drunks, and Victor has the distinct feeling he’d prefer to be anywhere else.

“It’s him,” Victor whispers.

“Are you sure?”

Victor is, even under the dim lights of the party.

“Stay here, I’ll talk to him first.”

She goes, and Victor stays back, balancing on the balls of his feet. From afar he watches the way the man startles when Sara lands a hand on his shoulder, and the way his eyes dart from her to Victor after a while – no doubt Sara just told him of the proposition.

Then, he watches as the man bows to Sara, shaking his head slightly.

He should have expected that; he can’t go and make someone stop working just for a flight of fancy. But still, it stings.

The man walks back inside and Sara comes back to him, her lips pursed in sympathy.

“Sorry, Vasily,” she says, her hands landing on his crossed arms.

Victor shakes his head. “It’s fine. No worker should have to indulge the whims of the higher-ups they toll under.”

Her lips quirk up a bit.

“You sound like a communist, you know.”

Victor smiles down at her. “Do I? Well, mother did give me a rather unconventional education.”

She covers a giggle with her hand, and they resume their stroll through the garden. This time, Sara directs them to the tables, where the older guests can be heard discussing business and golf courses in loud voices.

Among so many wizened heads, a shock of blond hair comes off as a surprise for Victor. “Is that Emil?” He makes a gesture with his head, towards a very lively young man.

“Of course,” Sara says.

“Didn’t you say he was sick?”

“Convalescing. He said he wouldn’t miss the party for anything.”

As they pass, Victor can hear Emil saying something about the Alps, and the small crowd around him exploding in laughter. He didn’t think the young Count would make it to the masquerade. But, since he did...

“Does Michele know he’s here?”

“Hmm… I’m not sure. Mickey got really mad the last time I mentioned Emil to him.”

“I think this is a sign.” Victor makes a gesture towards the sky. “This blanket of stars above us. Those lights in the trees. This most excellent champagne. You know this night is made for love, my friend.”

Sara looks at him, a cunning gleam in her eyes. “It really is.” She tries to bite back a smile, her pearly teeth nipping at her lower lip. “I’m gonna talk to Mickey. Butter him up a bit.”

“You do that.”

Victor watches with a smile as she takes off her high heels to run over the grass in search of her brother. Two birds with one stone.

Time to enter the house. 

**-**

Another thing he loves about the Crispino townhouse: the rugs. Bedrooms and corridors alike are covered by the thickest rugs money can buy, and that’s excellent news when it comes to tasks where being silent is a plus. Victor even takes off his shoes to feel the soft surface under his toes.

Thanks to his long legs, it doesn’t take long for him to cross the room towards the jewelry box over the vanity. He’s pretty sure he has time to spare, what with Michele being distracted by Emil in the garden and Sara sneaking away to the underground tavern to spend some more quality time with Mila, but Victor is sure he can make quick work out of this.

The jewelry box is a work of art by itself, carved in mahogany. Victor knows how much Michele has insisted for Sara to keep the valuable pieces in the safe, and he’s heard from her own lips that she couldn’t bear to lock up the ones her grandmother had left her.

_Maybe she’ll reconsider after tonight_ , he thinks as he opens the box.

Inside, there’s the pair of amethyst earrings Mila gave Sara for her birthday a few months ago. Victor was at the party. He might have cried a little over the look the two of them shared in that moment.

Frowning, he opens the little drawers. He sees some rings, a butterfly earring in need of a companion, a few crumpled pieces of paper, a stray rhinestone… And no signs of a sapphire necklace.

He goes to the vanity drawers next – maybe someone was careless. Meanwhile, he brings to mind her appearance tonight. Was she wearing it and somehow it escaped his attention? No, no, she was wearing her Buccellati Opera necklace, a thin line of white gold and diamonds around her neck. He would have noticed the sapphires and adjusted his plan accordingly.

Victor goes through more scraps of paper, strips of fabric, bottles of nail polish and nail polish remover, a variety of unlabeled lipstick cases and mascaras, and a pair of wayward panties. From there, he goes to the wardrobe, the nightstand, and even under the bed.

He turns the whole room upside down, and can’t find neither hide nor hair of the very thing he attended his party for.

Victor sits down on the rug, shoes hanging from his hand. Did Michele persuade her to lock up the necklace as well? Did he do that behind her back? It does sound like a thing Michele Crispino would do.

“ _Wait, wait, you’re gonna make me trip,_ ” comes a voice from the outside. Victor looks over the bed and sees the lights in the corridor being turned on. Speaking of the devil…

“ _C’mon, Mickey..._ ” Emil’s voice. He’s breathy and desperate, and Victor bets it’s not because he’s falling sick again.

Victor looks at the door. He could try to run, but with all the corridor lights on, he’d risk being seen by Michele, and he’s not looking forward to explaining himself to him.

He sighs, letting his head fall forward.

“And here we go again,” he says, before putting on his shoes and vaulting out of the bedroom window in record time.


	2. Paris, France

The first thing Victor thinks when he enters the club is that someone has made a very serious investment in neon lights. The whole floor is flooded with it, all in shades of blue for now, reflecting from the disco balls hanging from the ceiling.

Then, the DJ puts on a song so powerful the bass drops make the very lights pulse, and Victor thinks he’s gonna need to pop a couple of headache pills just in case.

It’s rare for Chris to invite him to such a loud place – he likes it smaller and quieter and classier. That, combined with the fact that Chris sent him two four-leaf clover emojis instead of one, makes Victor wonder about what kind of info he got his hands on this time.

He takes a sip from his cocktail, a refreshing minty one recommended by the quiet bartender who served him, and scans the crowd. It’s mostly twenty-somethings grinding on each other, knocking back their drinks, shouting to be heard over the booming music and having brief altercations where the club security can’t see them. For a brief time, it had been his scene too, but that phase had come and gone in a flash.

A different song starts, this time something Victor has heard in the radio a few times. He taps his foot to the beat, distractedly.

It’s when it happens.

Victor doesn’t see the man until he’s a few feet away from his stool, walking like he owns the entire club. He wears a midriff-baring crop-top, and his hips are enveloped by dark, tight pants. It’s hard not to stare at his defined abs, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, but when Victor manages to avert his eyes, he sees the black and white bandanna covering the man’s mouth.

And then.

Those eyes.

The same brown eyes he’s been seeing in his dreams since the masquerade are there, gazing right at him, made even more hypnotic by the colorful lighting.

The man grabs him by the arms and pulls him from the stool with no resistance. He walks backwards to the dancefloor, deftly avoiding the other clubgoers without even a glance in their direction, and Victor doesn’t want to do anything but follow.

An elephant could break into the club and stomp them all to death, and Victor wouldn’t even notice it.

As they reach the dancefloor, the song changes, the fast rhythm giving place to a slower tempo. The lights around them turns more intimate, a show of red and darker pink caressing the skin of all the swinging lovers.

The man throws his arms around Victor’s neck, and stands on his tiptoes to murmur in Victor’s ear.

“Dance with me.”

His voice is pure electricity, going down Victor’s spine and reviving every single cell it touches. Victor shudders in his hold and puts his hands on the man’s waist.

They sway with the beat, their bodies touching from chest to hip. The man moves like a dream, like the music is coming from inside him and not from a set of too loud boomboxes. In theory, Victor is the one in the leading position, but in reality he’s just letting the rhythm of the man’s body guide him, his eyes closed and his nose pressed against the man’s hair. It’s softer than it looked at first glance.

The entirety of him seems to be more than Victor thought, and he’s hungry for more.

The song blends into another, and another and another, and they go on dancing in their little corner of the world. The man is playing with the fine hairs on Victor’s nape, and Victor’s hand draws nonsense figures on his exposed skin.

He wants to ask him to go somewhere more private. He wants to look into those eyes once again. He wants to have a chance to plunge into a kiss. He even wants a morning after, to learn the man’s name and feed him coffee and pancakes with whipped cream.

Victor is aware he _shouldn’t_ want any of this. It’s not what he’s there for, but his stubborn heart refuses to listen. It beats hard against his ribcage, as if it wants to dance too.

They’re jolted back to reality by the vibrant sounds of a brand-new song, the dancefloor around them filling up again with the people who’d used the slow intermission to take care of other businesses.

The man blinks up at him, eyes huge. Falling from their place in Victor’s neck, his hands trail a path down his arms to Victor’s hands, joining their sweaty hands. If they’re wet from the atmosphere or from their closeness, Victor cannot say. He hopes it’s the latter; he hopes their bodies are in sync tonight.

He never gets any of the answers he craves. With a small squeeze, the man backs away and disappears in the crowd.

Victor opens his mouth to try and beg him to wait, but he can’t form the words.

The push and pull of the bodies on the dancefloor ends up depositing him back on the bar, where he finds another stool to sit down, still on a daze. He picks up an empty glass the bartender forgot to put away and plays with it, thinking of warm skin under his fingers. If he closes his eyes and concentrates, he can smell the remnants of the man’s perfume on his clothes. Wouldn’t it be nice if it never faded…

Someone gives his shoulder two light taps – another code. He blinks up at Chris’ worried face.

“Earth to Vitya,” Chris says, tone light.

Victor gives him a small smile. He knows he seems tired all of a sudden, but maybe he can excuse himself with an old man joke or two.

“You’re late, you know.”

Chris smiles back at him. It’s hard to miss the way his clothes are rumpled, even under the lights of the club.

“Mattieu is flying to Japan in a few hours,” he says, sliding into the unoccupied stool beside Victor. “I couldn’t let him go without a proper goodbye.”

Victor’s smile is a little less guarded now. Love looks good on his friend. He’s glad things are going well to at least one of his old friends.

(It stings to think he might not get a chance for things to go well for himself. He shoves the thought as far back on his mind as he can.)

Chris makes a small noise of disappointment when he notices the glass Victor is holding. “And here you were, drinking without me,” he says with a pout.

“Oh, this? It’s not even mine,” Victor says. “And I know I owe you a drink, don’t worry.”

“We owe so many drinks to each other,” Chris smirks, the _and many other things too_ going unsaid. “But one is a good place to start.”

Victor waits for a lull in the music to call the bartender. It’s not the quiet one from earlier; his shift must have ended while Victor was lost in the dance, probably.

“Two pink starburst shots, please,” he asks when the man stops in front of them. Chris lets out a snort at the name.

The bartender gives Victor a wide, upbeat smile. “Coming right up!”

As he leaves, Victor turns back to Chris.

“So,” he starts, but stops on his tracks when he sees his friend running a hand over the counter. Puzzled, he raises an eyebrow.

“I’m checking for wires first,” Chris says. Seemingly satisfied with what he found (or hasn’t found), he reaches out to the other side of the counter, and immediately assumes the most disgusted expression Victor has seen on his face.

“What?” Victor asks, trying not to laugh at the sheer amount of napkins Chris pulls from the holder.

“Fresh piece of gum stuck under the counter,” he says, wiping his hands over and over. “This place used to have _standards_.”

“Chris. A bit of chewed gum does not a shitty hovel make and you know it.” A full body shiver runs through Victor when he remembers the kind of place they have to go once in a while.

Chris opens his mouth to retort, but he’s interrupted by the bartender coming back with their drinks.

“There you go, gentleman,” he says, sliding a pair of shockingly pink concoctions towards them.

“Thank you,” Chris says, grabbing the glass. “And by the way, I have a complaint. Someone stuck gum under your side of the counter and I just touched it.”

The bartender puts a hand over his mouth. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’m gonna clean that up right now!”

_What if he asks why were you messing with his side of the counter? You’re not an employee_ , Victor thinks. He sips his drink, which is just the right amount of sweet, and side-eyes Chris. He hopes it passes for someone embarrassed by a friend’s antics instead of the mute warning it is.

The bartender spills wave after wave of apology for himself and his sloppy colleague who had the previous shift as he cleans it up. Victor leaves him a bigger tip for his troubles, and the guy looks relieved when a group of drag queens summons him at the other end of the counter.

“Yes, Vitya, I know,” Chris says as soon as the music picks up enough to muffle their convo. “But remember, there could’ve been a wire hidden under the gum or maybe in it.”

“Right, that makes sense,” Victor says. Chris is the one with tech experience among them, and Victor trusts his gut most of the time. “But what would you say if he thought all of this a little suspect?”

Chris lets out a sad-sounding sigh. “He wouldn’t.” He takes a large gulp of his drink. “This is one of the most exclusive clubs in the city, and I’m the white, disgustingly rich client. You know how these things go.”

Victor hates that Chris is right.

“Let’s get down to business, I guess.”

“Yes, it’s best we do.” Chris pulls his stool closer. "I’ve got a very good tip about the Blood Moon business."

Victor perks up, his attention fully on Chris now.

"Even Yakov thought the trail had gone cold." He's been asked to follow a dozen different leads on it since Lilia Baranovskaya had noticed that the Blood Moon of Budapest, one of the three most valuable diamonds in the underworld, wasn't among her possessions anymore. Yakov had spared no expense to find it again, but after five years, the weary look on his mentor's face when Victor mentioned another information that'd lead to a dead end spoke of a man who had lost hope.

Deep down, Victor has always thought the gem superfluous, almost insulting. He recognizes, however, that this particular quest is not about him.

"I'm as surprised as you," Chris says. "It seems Ivan Vladimirovich has his hands on it now."

Victor’s eyes widen. Ivan Vladimirovich has tried to prove his superiority over Yakov many times through the last decades, but Victor never imagined the man could be so brazen.

"Do you think he's had it this whole time?"

Chris looks up, thinking. "... Nah," he says after a while. "You know his methods. He wouldn't pass up the opportunity to rub it on Yakov and Lilia's face if he had it from the beginning. No, from the looks of it he bought it recently from someone in Brazil."

Victor purses his lips. Chris goes on, "And, of course, he's doing an exhibition to show off the diamond."

"When?"

"December 5th. Apparently, it’s going to be a big event. Fur coats are mandatory."

Victor rolls his eyes. “How on brand for him.” He swirls his drunk around. “I assume the place was also set.”

“Of course. Karl Schäfer’s estate in Veszprém. I’ll send the coordinates to Georgi so he can plan the best routes from Budapest.”

The very place where, once upon a winter, Yakov gifted his wife-to-be the jewel Victor now has the opportunity to recover.

He lifts a finger to his lips. “Is it classy or tacky that he chose Schäfer’s estate?”

“This is all because Madame Baranovskaya never accepted his courtship, isn’t it? If that isn’t the epitome of tacky, I don’t know what is.”

Victor hums in agreement. “I guess so. Care for another drink?”

Chris winks. “I’ll pay this time.”

The rest of the night is spent between listening to Chris’ tales about his cat, Belle, who almost makes Victor reconsider his status as a dog person, and looking around the dancefloor for one last glimpse of the world’s most beautiful man. To Victor’s deep sadness, he might as well have turned into smoke.

"What?" he asks when he notices Chris staring at him.

Chris rests his head on his hand, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Georgi said you looked a bit distant after coming back from the Crispino job.” A beat. “In fact, he used the word _lovelorn_.”

Victor tries to cover his shock with a smile. “Oh, you know Georgi.” He downs the rest of his drink. It goes down burning. “He’s romantic enough for all of us.”

“Indeed,” is all Chris says, before moving to other subjects. If he notices how Victor stares at the bottles behind the bartender to avoid looking at him, he doesn’t mention it.

-

The morning comes and the club is ready to close when a slender hand reaches under the counter and removes a minuscule set of wires with an even smaller microphone in the center. Sticking the gum in front of it was a good distraction tactic. He has to thank Seung-gil for that later.

Not long after, the same hand types a couple of messages on the phone.

  
_you heard it all, i hope_  
_and i saw you dancing earlier  
_ _so fired up :P_

******_E._**  
_No comment on that_  
_And yes, I got it  
_ _December 5th_


End file.
